l8o LEAVES FROM A HUNTING DIARY 



son, young Will, whom Mr. Barclay, when he undertook the 

 Mastership of the Puckeridge Hounds, promoted to the office 

 of first whip. Both father and son were imbued with a keen 

 love of sport ; familiar with every nook and corner of the forest 

 and its environs, it would have been hard for that past-master 

 of the science of hare-hunting, the late Mr. Henry Vigne, to 

 have found two servants who could have served him better. 

 "Old Bill," who is now a forest-keeper, when the nights draw 

 in, finds his way up to Mr. Ketts' house at Buckhurst Hill, 

 for a quiet smoke and a chat about old days. 



How beautifully the hounds, taking up the line again, raced down to the 

 Rundells Grove end of Latton Park. Skirting it half-way towards the 

 keeper's cottage in the wood, we had an opportunity of witnessing a most 

 perfect piece of hunting, for suddenly turning off to the left, hounds had to 

 puzzle out a regular zig-zag line across a large stubble field liberally 

 dressed with manure. Gradually, but surely, they took the line to the far 

 side, and then bore to the left, down the fence— a rough straggling hedge. 

 Not fifty yards to the left was a hand-gate, of which most of us availed 

 ourselves. Galloping down the lane into which it opened, hounds crossed 

 it before we could get to them, closely attended by Mr. Clarke, who took a 

 crushed hat, an awkward fence, and a lead as a matter of course, as he 

 piloted us across another stubble to a small plantation, which was skirted, 

 and, before we knew it, hounds swept out of sight round the next one. 

 We were over the line, for the hare had taken a very sudden turn to the 

 right. Hounds quickly recovered the line, right under our very feet, and 

 sailed away over the stubble as fast as they had run over the grass. 



The Reptonian took his third crumpler without a murmur in a blind, 

 but by no means wide, ditch. Out on the common, again piloted by 

 Messrs. Rickett and Clarke, we had to call upon our nags to keep in touch 

 of the little beauties, as they simply flew across it, for the going was heavy, 

 and Rye Hill Common always carries a scent. Hitting it off on the other 

 side of the well-drained pastures of Mr. Phillips, we raced away for Maries 

 Farm, which was passed on the right. Crossing the road by Shingle Hall, 

 a fine stretch of level grass lay before us, and it looked like Nasing 

 Common. No occasion to have taken the slightest pull at your reins, for 

 you could not have over-ridden them at the pace they were going. 



Timber never baulks hounds, but we all pulled up, " even the young 

 Reptonian," at the stiff rails that barred the way. Young Hurrell turned 

 them on the right ; the officer on the polo pony and Mr. Westall, between 

 them, dissected a " bullfinch " on the left, but the ditch and the briars took 

 toll of the former. 



Forrard, away over the Epping-road, they swept down the grass field 

 beyond, towards the Cobbins brook. Young Hurrell shoved his cob over 

 the briery hedge, and landed safely, though there was a nasty drop. Mr. 

 Parham cleverly negotiated it on the 5-year-old ; Mr. Benton got over with 

 a fall, but was soon mounted and going again. Three fields further on we 

 came to a sudden, but what proved a final check, having been running 

 60 minutes. Few of us regretted not killing such a good hare — shades of 

 night saved her. 



Saturday, December 28th. The Stng Hounds were at the Kennels, 

 Harlow (six miles from Epping) ; Fox Hounds at Four Ashes (some sixteen 



